


Something Right for Once

by moodymarshmallow



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-14
Updated: 2013-07-14
Packaged: 2017-12-20 04:57:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/883200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moodymarshmallow/pseuds/moodymarshmallow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Garrus and Shepard's first night may not be perfect, but it is right.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Something Right for Once

They forgot that prior to this tense, dim lit moment they had touched one another before. But context matters; previously they were friends, previously they were partners, previously she was his commander and he was a failure. Previously she was broken and shattered and dead and he was lost. He helped her up. She applied medi-gel. He clapped a hand on her shoulder like she was an old war buddy. She punched him in the arm in the same fond way she did with everyone else she liked, but harder, so he could really feel it.

She smiled. She laughed. She reached up to put a hand on either side of his face and he realized he never knew how small she was. It was easy to miss that when she stood so tall, when not a damn thing in the galaxy, not turian, not krogan, not even reaper, could stare her down. He placed that feeling in his chest then when she ran her knuckles soft and slow over the ropey mess of scars that was the right side of his face--it was awe.

"I knew you were part krogan," he said. "It's always the scars."

The way she smiled was just like the rest of her, incredulous with jagged edges. She slid her hands down, touched his warm neck, found herself a yielding spot and stayed there, her hands hotter than he thought they ought to be.

"You're lucky I consider that a compliment, Vakarian."

"Oh, I'm lucky all right."

She raised herself on her toes to press a soft kiss to the hard line of his mouth and he knew that when he got up the nerve to hold her he'd never let go.

"So how do I get you out of this?" she asked, one hand on the blue fabric stretched over his cowl. She was all half-smiles and near laughter when he touched her face, beautiful when she closed her eyes and so soft. Claire Shepard should have been hard. There was no way her skin should indent when he touched it; she should be stone, smooth but unyielding.

"With difficulty,” he replied, chuckling despite himself. “Here.” Reaching up, he unfastened a few things, the hard snaps near his arms, the concealed zipper by his neck.

“Come on, sit down, otherwise I’m going to have to climb you to reach anything,”

“I don’t see a downside to that, Commander.” Good-natured teasing came naturally. It eased everything knotted and tight inside him. It felt like a sigh of relief and the amused curve of her smile.

“Claire.” Just a gentle reminder to go with the hand clasped in his.

“Right,” he said, drawing it out, focused on the press of her palm against his. “You might uh, need to remind me of that once or twice. Protocol on a turian ship would still get me reprimanded for having the balls to call my CO by her name.”

“Kinky.” She was pulling him now, chuckling, leading him into the room so they weren’t standing in front of the empty, glowing fish tank. He wondered why she didn’t have any fish. He wondered why he was wondering that at this particular time.

“So much less than you’d think,” he said as he sank down on the edge of her bed, looking up at her as she joined him by straddling his lap, balancing a knee on either side of his hips. The knife slash scars on her skin were too deep, too mean. He put his fingers on them and she tilted her head into his hand, closing her eyes again.

That’s when he wrapped his arms around her, still dressed but all unbuttoned, pressing his face to her throat when she was close.

“We are crazy, aren’t we?” he asked, his voice quiet, his mouth firm on her warm neck. She made a soft noise in her throat so he moved his mouth again, silently, cradling her head when she tilted it to the side.

“Definitely,” she murmured. “But if I’m gonna be crazy with someone, I want it to be you.”

He met her eyes and found that though she was smiling, they were anxious, unsure. She brought her teeth down on her lower lip and leaned forward to rest her forehead on his. With a slight tilt of her head and a shuddering sigh, she moved to kiss his forehead. Slow moments passed with her lips on his forehead, his hand on her cheek, her neck, the other planted firmly on the small of her back to hold her near. He slipped it around her waist, one finger tracing the waistband of her fatigues, startling himself with how much he wanted this, by how much the slip of flesh between the layers of fabric made him feel primal. Not because it was skin, but because it was _her_ skin.

He pinched the fabric, tugged it up just enough for her to know what he was doing. When he met her eyes again they were still anxious, clearly nervous, and he stopped, pressing his mouth to her cheek. She clutched to him and it was wonderful to feel her wanting to be so close because it meant they wanted the same thing, and maybe that meant they had more in common than he thought.

“Claire,” Garrus said softly, lifting his hand to stroke her fuzzy scalp, her short hair like dark velvet. “I gotta know...” She searched his eyes, all nerves and uncertainty, teeth on her lip again. He wondered if his eyes looked the same to her, full of uncharacteristic disquiet. He closed them, opened them, took a foolish chance.

“So what’s with the giant fish tank and no fish?”

Her jaw dropped and for a moment she just blinked at him, her hands still around his neck, dipping into the back of his cowl. Then she set her jaw and she looked familiar again. It didn’t matter that he was convinced she’d punch him.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Her voice was stuck somewhere between a growl and exasperated defeat. She moved out of his lap, onto the edge of the bed next to him, and put her hand over her eyes.

“It’s a valid question,” Garrus said. “The fish tank is the focal point and everything.”

“I don’t like fish. I eat fish.”

“Seems like it’d be a good storage space for fresh sushi then.”

That’s when she started laughing; it came on so quickly that it started with an undignified snort, which got her going even more. Around her scars her cheeks were pink, and she punched him roughly in the arm before flopping onto her back, legs dangling over the side of the bed.

“I cannot fucking believe you,” she said, reaching for him when he moved over her, the corner of her mouth curled into an incredulous smile. She stroked his cheek again, sat up and moved towards the head of the bed with him. “Cannot believe you,” she repeated, her voice softer, her tone less aggressive though not necessarily gentle. It suited her better than the nervous trepidation, and Garrus closed his eyes, pleased, when she slipped her hands into his shirt and pushed it off his shoulders.

Once it was off she laid her hand on his keel, her thumb brushing one side of the protrusion in the middle of his chest. She traced it to his waist and back up again, intense focus in her dark eyes.

"How much of this do you feel?" she asked.

“In relation to what?” he asked, genuinely puzzled as he watched her brush her knuckles over his side of his keel, then down across the side of his chest, resting her hand on his shoulder.

“I mean.” She paused and furrowed her brow. “If I touch you very lightly, do you feel it?” She ran her thumb in a slow circle, very soft, very gently and he nodded.

“You thought I wouldn’t?” He rested his hand on her stomach, on the skin that was exposed when she raised her arms.

“You’re different,” she said after a short pause. He nodded in agreement and nuzzled her cheek lightly, slipping his hand up her shirt to feel the muscles twitch under her skin. “I’m being an ass, aren’t I?” She wrapped an arm around his cowl to run her fingers down the back of his neck.

“Mm, not this time,” he closed his eyes, leaned into her hand when she moved it to his neck. She shifted under his hand and he removed it, opening his eyes in time to watch her peel her shirt over her head. She fiddled with another layer, a black half shirt, tight against her chest, before pulling that off too. “But when you are I’ll...” he trailed off, still astounded by how soft she was. How she’d survived so much was beyond him.

“Don’t just stare. You’ll give me a complex.”

So he didn’t. He helped her off with her trousers and raised a brow at pink underwear, thinking it was just like her to hide something like that. He got his own off, echoing the comment about staring while she did so in curiosity, sitting cross-legged, naked, watching him slide the fabric off of the bone spurs below his knees. He sat back and she climbed onto his lap again, forehead to his, her skin smooth as high-polished chrome under his fingers, warmer still in the places where she flushed.

It was all different; the feel of her ribs when he slid his hand down her side, the padded curve of her hip, the velvet of her close-cropped hair, her eyelashes feather light on his cheek when they kissed, the taste of her tongue, slipping into his mouth full of jagged teeth--she was always fearless. She tilted back her head for him to nibble her neck, leaned back on his folded legs to watch him cup the slight weight of her firm breast, thumb brushing her small, dark nipple. She placed her hand atop his and led it over her, down her stomach, across the ticklish expanse of her inner thigh to between her legs where she let it go.

When he touched her she huffed and bit her lip again, so he nipped it too, hissing when she retaliated with the pleasant scrape of her teeth on his neck. He murmured questions, waiting for nods and breathy answers before tonguing her neck, before nuzzling her chest and hearing her heart thump fast with a slip of his fingers over her slick warmth.

She shifted in his lap, half-lidded eyes widening. “That’s you, isn’t it?” He nodded, his mouth on her collarbone when she reached between them and guided him inside of her with a sigh, then a groan when he moved his hips. She braced herself on his chest as he slid back, eyes closed, a shudder running through her when he stroked her side, quiet in those long moments but for her low growls and swallowed groans. She was beautiful on top of him like that, rocking with his movement, wild, feral, her teeth clenching when her body did, her head tossed back and sweat beading on her tan skin.

When it was over, when she was resting against his chest despite the keel, her face pressed into his neck, terribly warm and more relaxed than he had ever seen her, he kissed the top of her head, then rested his chin there, holding her just a little closer than he needed to. He was trying to pinpoint the moment he realized it wasn’t just an experiment, that it wasn’t harmless. It was before she touched him like he was something worth caring for, before she tried to pass off her interest as a joke. It was before he caught her in the scope on Omega.

It was before she died.

 

 


End file.
